Chapter 7: I Want Her to Suffer for This

"Did you hear? The Ashford girl got hurt tonight, is that true?"

"I just came from the ER. That family doesn't do anything halfway. Vivian's barely scratched, but the whole family showed up like the building was on fire. Mr. Ashford walked out of a deal worth hundreds of millions the second he heard. And her husband's been on the phone all night, dragging in every specialist in Meridian City for a consultation. The man is completely wrapped around her finger."

"Must be nice, being an Ashford. Meanwhile we just admitted a woman on this floor just had an abortion, and there's not a single visitor in the room. No husband, no family, nothing. Breaks your heart."

"That's rough. Alright, I've got to go, catch you later."

...

Nora lay listening to the drip of the IV line, each drop landing louder than it had any right to in the empty room.

She bit down hard on her lip to keep the sob in her throat.

Julian wasn't even at the dinner tonight away on business, from what I heard. So the "husband" they're talking about has to be Grant.

He really does love her that much.

Every fresh detail of it landed like salt in an open wound, mocking every year she'd spent believing in something that had never existed.

Three years of quiet devotion, and for what. She'd built up a tolerance to wheat just so she could handle the dishes he liked, despite her own allergy. She'd spent months developing a hangover remedy suited exactly to his body chemistry. She'd tracked down his favorite coffee blend from halfway across the world. She'd planned every single meal around his sensitive stomach, year after year, without him ever once noticing the effort behind it.

None of it had ever meant a thing to him.

Fine. If that's how it is, I'll give him exactly what he wants.

At least then neither of us has to keep pretending anymore.

---

After a night of observation, Nora was discharged early the next morning, still shaky on her feet. Between the exhaustion and her blindness, every step out of that building took twice the care it should have.

She finally made it to the curb and stood there, hand raised, waiting for a cab.

Rush hour. Every taxi that passed was already full. Fifteen minutes in, still nothing.

Just as her patience started to fray, a car pulled up in front of her.

The window slid down. A voice, low and unhurried, carried an edge she couldn't quite place. "Where to, ma'am?"

Relief flooded through her finally, an open car.

She felt her way forward, leaned down toward the open window. "Cloudspire Manor, please."

She heard the driver's door open. A moment later, a coat settled over her shoulders.

She started to protest on instinct, but his tone left no room for argument. "You're coming from the hospital. The last thing you need is a cold on top of it."

The night had turned bitter, and the morning wasn't much better. She'd been shivering at the curb for a quarter hour already.

She accepted the coat, murmuring, "Thank you."

The car's warmth wrapped around her the second she climbed inside, chasing the chill out of her bones.

In the rearview mirror, the driver studied her the unhealthy pallor beneath her skin, the grey tint to her lips. Something dark and unreadable flickered behind his eyes, his jaw tightening before he caught himself.

Nora, of course, couldn't see any of it. She only knew she'd stumbled into a stroke of kindness on an otherwise miserable morning.

Funny. The first real warmth I've felt in days, and it comes from a total stranger not my family, not my husband.

The ride was quiet and smooth. When they arrived, she paid the fare and said, "Keep the change."

The driver watched her for a long moment, his expression composed on the surface, though something heavier moved underneath it.

A few seconds passed before he took the money from her hand. "Thank you."

Nora didn't linger. She made her way toward the gate without looking back.

Once she'd disappeared inside, the man pulled out his phone, his voice going flat and cold. "Cancel tonight's flight. I'm staying in Meridian City a while longer."

A pause.

"Understood, Second Master."

---

Back home, freshly post-op and running on no sleep, Nora looked as worn as she felt.

Her phone buzzed one of the private investigators she'd reached out to had finally agreed to take the case, though the price tag was steep. Given who they'd be digging into Grant Pierce, wealthy and untouchable, one wrong move could cost the investigator everything.

Nora didn't hesitate. Money wasn't the obstacle. Finding someone willing to take the risk at all had been the hard part.

The accident happened three years ago. The falsified diagnosis, the hospital records that didn't add up. Grant and Vivian were going to answer for every last piece of it.

She sent the first payment, then went to change out of her clothes and realized she was still wearing the driver's coat.

I left in such a hurry, I completely forgot to give it back.

She figured if he remembered, he'd come looking for it eventually. She draped it over the foot of the bed and went to shower.

By the time she lay down, exhaustion had her fully in its grip.

---

About an hour later, she heard the sound of an engine cutting off outside Grant, home at last.

He hadn't slept a wink the night before, up with Vivian at the hospital, and it showed his eyes bloodshot, his patience worn thin. He'd only left once Vivian was safely back at the Ashford estate.

Nora humiliated her in front of the whole family. She owes Vivian an explanation, at the very least.

The staff scrambled to meet him at the door, taking his coat, setting out his slippers.

"Where's my wife?"

Mrs. Doyle answered without thinking twice. "She got back not long ago, sir. Asleep already, I believe pregnant women tend to tire easily."

Grant's brow furrowed. "She just got back?"

Mrs. Doyle hesitated. Surely he already knew this.

The Ashford dinner had run late the night before, and neither of them had come home. She'd simply assumed they'd stayed over together and come back separately this morning.

But something in his tone told her that wasn't the case at all.

She nodded carefully, unwilling to lie to him.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees in an instant.

Grant turned and took the stairs two at a time.

He reached the bedroom and pushed the door open.

Midday light fought against drawn curtains, the room dim and shadowed. He could just make out a shape curled on the bed. Without ceremony, he yanked the curtains open, and sunlight flooded the space.

The woman on the bed stirred faintly in her sleep, brow furrowed with some unresolved discomfort that refused to smooth out.

Grant stood over her, his wife of three years taking in the sight of her: a pale silk nightgown, dark hair spilling loose across half her face.

The neckline had slipped, revealing a slice of pale skin at her collarbone, and he knew exactly what lay beneath it. He'd never forgotten.

There was no denying it Nora had always had a body worth noticing.

He didn't love her. But he'd never stopped wanting her, not once.

He remembered their wedding night with a clarity that still unsettled him how he'd gone to her bed intending it as punishment, a way of taking something back from her on Vivian's behalf. He'd wanted her to suffer for every year Vivian had suffered.

And then he'd realized, too late to stop himself, that it was her first time.

Something in me gave way that night, and I couldn't pull it back.

He lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the bed, fingers brushing lightly over her closed eyes, her brow. "As long as you leave Vivian alone, you'll always be Mrs. Pierce. That much I can promise you."

He decided against waking her whatever needed saying could wait.

He rose to leave, then stopped cold.

Something at the foot of the bed caught his eye. A coat, draped carelessly over the frame.

A man's coat. Not his.